The Palatka daily news. (Palatka, Fla.) 1884-1888, 1887-06-28
THE DAILY NEWS
THE UNGLOVED HAND.


streaming across his white face and max
ing more than terrible his open, glazed
eyes, IA bird sitting singing on his icy
hand; the black, round mark about his
throat; the half finished statue Of Memory
in the moist clay; the open easement and
the carefully closed door.
That was all.
Yet no-you ask if there was no clew7
Two.
Little ones.
And yet one greater than the other.
The deep imprints Of two hands-a
right hand and u left-in the wet clay OF
the young artists last work.
The right hand was that of an aristo-
crat; the long, slender and tapered
fingers, the hollow, narrow palm, even
the impress Of the oval nail tips lay there
clearly cut i'm the gray clay.
The left was the hand of vulgarian,
broad Of palm, with short, thick fingers,
their fiat, wide tips sinking deep.
They were close beside each other.
They were friends.
They had been as close in their reia-
lions rs humanity may be, for together, it
seemed, they had murdered Vladimir
Dejnek.
TO whom had those two hands be-
longed?
Ii was a ceaseless question, which no
one for years could reply 10.
The aristocratic hand detectives, anafo-
mists and experts decided was the hand
Of n woman-a small, soft, sensitive palm,
lightly touching the object 1t met to sup
port it's owner on her hasty route across
the studio, and yet leaving its indelible
portrait staring there.
The other, the accomplice's hand-for
naturally the aristocrat was taken for the
instigator and the vulgarian the hireling-
was thought to be that Of youth, terri
fled at his share of the crime, his strong
fingers having sunk deeply into the statue
of Memory.
Had Vladimir Dcjnek any enemies?
All, we'll; none that any one knew, but
when man is young, ardent, iInpas-
stoned, loyable, may he not have enemies
"a we'll aa friendss Easily.
Did he love any oneS
Oh yes, yes; love Is not an idle word, 1t
does the work OF many not yet invented.
And was he loved?
Truly.
By whom?
All, who knows
Hind hc n model?
Ics. She ceased coming fortnight
before.
And who was she?
Oh, well, IA young, tall woman, wrapped
alway1, even it this fine weather
Did the s-ltuc resemble herr
Yes-ahl to he sure the face Of Memory
WIS "a IL po5SiDiy
Vladimir Dejnek and that very morning,
very likely, he had obliterated it.
Could the model he founds
Nicholas, Paul and Katinka, the ser
wants of the dead man, thought that she
could.
Where?
At Virchow of course.
Was she found7
All, no.
And was there any one clsef
To be sure; the new model How
strange that they had not thought Of her
beforel
And she?
Young, beautiful; OIL with eyes like the
rcindeer's and long hair like the ripe silk
of the corn, and u mouth az soft AS fungus
Al the spring.
And her hands?
Well, well; that was too much.
Nicholas PauI and Katinka shook their
heads and murmured their prayers.
Yes, yes, she had hands IruIy-because
Katinka had seen Vladimir Dejnek's large,
green, shining, jeweled ring sparkling on
the new models finger only the day be-
fore.
And where was shes
oh, at Virchow; where elses
Was she found?
No.
So Vladimir Deineks relations settled
themselves into n stunned calm, and took
possession of his property quite naturally,
after spending many thousands of rubles
in vain attempts To discover his muir
tierers.
Not II trace of either women could be
had, and presently Chateau Monplaisir
echoed to the light laughter Of the pretty
cousin of the last tenant and the innocent
prattle of her children.
The pavilion was torn down, and in its
oh, txf,. vxIa
warm weather u jet high in the air.
The sculptor's tools were buried-and
the unfinished, fnccless statue of Mnemos-
yne.
Wei, Vladimir Dejnek had a friend
Ivan Ansaldi, These two men had loved
each other N men do once in a while, very
truly, very deeply and tenderly; and Ivan
Ansaldi begged of the relatives of Vladi-
mir Dejnek that they would give him the
statue of Memory left unfinished in the
studio.
They gladly assented.
lie took il away and had il baked and
painted and glazed and kept il always
standing with n long, dark cloth over it in
the drawing room Of his apartment in
Moscow.
And l.c swore, could he but ever meet
find the owner of either of those hands,
he would avense the death of Vladimir
Deiuek.
Ivan Ansalli was the son of southern
father-hc lad passions, powers, capabili-
ties all of the most accentuated dcscrip-
ton.
He was n man of about forty years Of
ace n man of force and of intelligence; n
little vain, but perhaps not too much so.
lie had had his Successes; he had been
loved in fact; hc had had innumerable
''aifairs Of the heart"
And here 10 paradox: Amid all these
affairs of the heart" he had ever sought
without finding it-lovel
He had indeed two characters; with the
one he amused himself by knocking the
whole world, aud with the other?-well,
he reserved the other, and very possibly
consoicd himself with the absurd idea that
the clay might come when he should show
it entirely to--sone one
Ivan Ansalli had those melancholy yet
always brilliant eyes, which forever seem
to seek.
And what do they seek?
1t is not for me to say.
He had Travelled all over the earth look
ing always-for what?
Fame? Richest
Heaven Knows, And perhaps he him.
Sc,f, il. the depths of his soul, knew also.
At lcHst he was very well aware that
ne had vcr yet founl that thing which
he sougiit.
He Thought often of his friend Vladimir
Dejnek; the idea of vengeance slept within
him, hut did not die
Even to night, when Just about to start
for ball ut the English ambassadors,
Ivan, brushing past the statue, pulled
aside the dark cloth and stuck his fore
finger into the little aristocratic place
nodded in the clay-and then with an oath
he drew il ont, and, drenchinsy his hand in
"A. l..ff saEl